Michael Pearce - The Fig Tree Murder

‘You never know,’ said the man philosophically.

And, indeed, he didn’t know. Not much more than he’d said, anyway. Owen got more out of Garvin, into whose office he dropped after the man had been taken away.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Garvin, ‘I know him. He works the racetracks. Stays with the same gang, mostly.’

‘Do they take on other jobs?’

‘Occasionally.’

‘Political ones?’

Garvin looked doubtful.

‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Mostly they stick to the racetracks… They were up at Heliopolis the other day,’ he offered as Owen was on the way out.

Owen stopped.

‘The ones we saw?’

‘That’s right. They were talking to one of the stewards, if you remember. I’m worried about that, Owen. We don’t want the course to get off to a bad start. You asked me not to take action, but-’

‘Hello!’ said Salah-el-Din, coming across the room to greet him. ‘What brings you here?’

‘I was over at Matariya,’ said Owen, ‘so I thought I would pop in.’

‘Very nice to see you. Care for a drink?’

This being Cairo, Owen didn’t ordinarily accept drinks from subordinates; but this was also the bar at the New Heliopolis Racing Club, where things certainly seemed a bit different, so he accepted graciously.

They sat down in two plushy armchairs near the window, from where they could look down on the racetrack. There being no races today, the track was empty; except for, yes, it was her, Salah-el-Din’s daughter, plus attendant, going for her usual promenade.

Salah-el-Din followed the direction of Owen’s eyes.

‘Yes, it is Amina. We come most days. But she goes for a walk while I come up to the bar!’ He laughed. ‘In case you’re wondering, though, I only have one drink. And I justify my attendance on the grounds that until more of Heliopolis is built, this is where I’m going to meet everybody.’

The bar was certainly filling up. There was a sprinkling of Syndicate staff, mostly Belgians but a number of-well, not so much effendis, too rich for that-wealthy Egyptian young, all males, of course, from the Pashas’ houses round about. Owen looked for Malik. He wasn’t there, but if Amina was, could Malik be far behind?

They talked for a while about the new police station that was being built at Heliopolis and about its staffing. This was really Garvin’s pigeon but Salah was anxious that there should be some Mamur Zapt involvement, on the grounds that the international community, bankers and such, would be heavily represented in the New Heliopolis and policing would have to have regard for international treaties.

Owen offered a return drink, which, however, Salah declined. ‘Since I’ve told you my role, I’d better stick to it,’ he said. ‘However, you can offer it to Amina if you like. I’m just going down to fetch her.’

‘I’ll come with you, if I may,’ said Owen. ‘I’d like to look at the track.’

Some men were laying turf.

‘Big staff?’

‘Building up,’ said Salah. ‘People don’t realize how many the Club will employ. It will be a very good thing for people hereabouts.’

‘And for the gangs.’

‘I’ve seen that here already. That’s one of the things I’m going to have to keep an eye on.’

‘Do they get at the staff? Try to influence them?’

‘It wouldn’t do any good. You’ve got to have safeguards against a thing like that.’

Owen looked for the man he had seen the other day.

‘What happens to the stewards? Are they here all the time?’

‘Just for the races.’

There would be races the following Saturday, Salah said. The Club was anxious to hold them twice a week but at the moment the crowds didn’t justify it.

‘It’ll be different when the new railway’s running,’ he said.

Amina’s eyes, above her veil, brightened when she saw Owen.

‘You’ve still not been to see me,’ she said accusingly. ‘I ride every morning, mostly over towards Matariya.’

‘I’ve been a bit busy lately. One of these mornings you’ll see me!’

The horse would have to be wild indeed that got him over to Matariya, he told himself privately.

‘About seven,’ she said.

‘Lot of people around at that time?’ he said, wondering about Malik.

‘Fortunately not,’ she said, meeting his eyes levelly.

Up in the bar, he bought her a drink. She chose tonic.

She was the only woman in the room. Owen noticed, however, that they seemed to accept her. Probably they’d got used to her. It wouldn’t do, though, to talk to her all the time. Or would it? This was a different world from any other that he had known in Egypt, not exactly more emancipated, but freer in the way that wealth somehow manages to give itself more elbow room.

Salah brought someone across to meet him.

‘George Zenakis,’ he said. ‘Our Secretary.’

Our Secretary?

‘You must be very busy just now,’ said Owen, ‘with everything starting up.’

‘Well, yes. But it’s nothing to what it’s going to be later. Or so they tell me,’ the man said, smiling.

‘And do you handle everything? Or is there a General Manager of some sort?’

‘I handle everything on behalf of the committee. Membership, for instance.’

‘How many members have you?’

‘About two hundred, and growing fast. You wouldn’t yourself-?’

‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to get out here enough. My other commitments-’

He asked, for politeness’s sake, about the subscription, then mentally reeled back.

‘I don’t think I could run to that,’ he said.

‘Oh, you don’t have to bother about that,’ said George Zenakis, smiling. ‘We would be glad to waive, for the Mamur Zapt-’

On the Saturday, Owen was at the races. Not up in the bar this time but down by the track, and not there for long; just long enough to point out to his agents the steward that he and Garvin had seen talking to the gang on the day of the reception.

‘His name is Roukoz,’ said Georgiades in Owens office on the following Monday. Georgiades was the plain-clothesman who had put a gun into Owen’s hand at the demonstration. ‘And he has a history of working the racetracks. He was at the Gezira for a little while but they didn’t like him and so he moved on to Helwan.’

‘Why didn’t they like him?’ asked Owen.

‘He was too friendly with the wrong sort of people.’

‘The gang?’

‘Gangs. Nothing they could put their finger on, but they didn’t like him.’

‘And at Helwan?’

Georgiades hesitated.

‘Nothing you could put your finger on there, either. But again they didn’t like him. This time, though, he had a friend higher up and so he stayed.’

‘Do you know the friend?’

‘Yes. He’s not at Helwan either now.’

‘Where is he?’

‘Heliopolis.’

‘Who moved first?’

‘The friend did. Then, when the racetrack opened, Roukoz.’

‘What’s the name of the friend?’

‘Zenakis.’

Owen went to see the man from the Syndicate who had rung him up.

‘About that demonstration the other night,’ he said. ‘I didn’t break it up.’

‘You didn’t? But-who did?’

‘You did,’ said Owen.

‘Now look here, Owen-’

‘You used a gang from the racetracks. I know. I’ve got one of them.’

‘If you say it was a gang from the racetracks, OK, it was a gang from the racetracks. But it wasn’t anything to do with us.’

‘Well, I think it was. I know the gang, you see, and I’ve seen them at Heliopolis.’

‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean-’

‘Talking to one of the stewards.’

‘That’s bad. It must be looked into. But that doesn’t necessarily-’